


you're revival

by noctiphany



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Branding, Bruises, Dysfunctional Relationships, Knifeplay, M/M, Mild Blood, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 23:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18486499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noctiphany/pseuds/noctiphany
Summary: "You don't understand. Iwantyou to hurt me."





	you're revival

**Author's Note:**

> A vague disclaimer is no one's friend but since some people are out here thinking fanfiction is a how-to manual for life: hey, hi. This is fiction. Don't do any of this shit. Or do whatever you want, but don't blame it on me. Thanks, have a great day.

"You don't understand, B," Jay says slowly, grabbing Bruce by his wrist and dragging his hand up to his throat, pressing it against the muscle and tendons in his neck. "I  _ want  _ you to hurt me."

Bruce's face pinches and tightens. He tries to pull his hand away, but Jason won't let him. "Haven't I done enough of that."

Jason just smiles down at him -- not a smirk, not a sharp, pointed grin. Not this time. This time, he smiles soft and bright, like the boy Bruce remembers in the yellow cape, the boy that spent hours studying for tests, the boy that introduced him to chili dogs and Neapolitan ice cream and changed his whole life.

"Maybe," Jason says, still smiling. Still beautiful. "But now it's on my terms."

Bruce swallows the lump in his throat; he can feel Jason's adam's apple press against his palm when he does the same.

"You said I could have whatever I wanted," Jason says, turning his head to the side to press his lips to Bruce's fingertips. "All I had to do was ask."

"I did, but Jason --"

"I  _ want  _ you to stop treating me like I'm one of your priceless works of art. I'm not. I want bruises, Bruce. I want handprints. I want fucking  _ blood _ . I want  _ you  _ all over me.”

"Jay --" Bruce's voice escapes him suddenly, voice cracking, shaking.

"Because that -- that's who we are, right? Underneath all the reasons and pretenses, underneath everything, we hurt each other. Because we love each other."

"I do," Bruce agrees. "I love you so much. I just. I don't know how to."

"This," Jason says, putting his hand over Bruce's again, tightening it around his throat. "This is how."

Bruce's eyes meet Jason's. Even with Bruce's hand squeezing his throat, Bruce thinks he looks so peaceful. Jay's always been smarter than him in some ways, so maybe he’s right. Maybe this really is the only way for them to love each other. Pain and suffering -- but on their terms this time.

Bruce squeezes harder and Jason's eyelids flutter shut, mouth parting on a soft gasp.

Maybe, love for them was always going to hurt. Like a broken rib, like a chest wound. Open and exposed, always gasping for air. Always a struggle.

He leaves a ring of bruises around Jay’s throat, fingerprints on his hips, matching teeth marks on the inside of both thighs. After, they survey the damage in the mirror together, Jay’s fingers roaming over his body, pressing into the marks Bruce left all over him.

“I love you,” Bruce says, and it comes out easier this time. Less like ripping out sutures and knowing the wound is just going to get infected again. It feels easy, this time. It feels right.

“You’re all over me,” Jason murmurs, still tracing the mottled purples and blues on his throat. “It’s like. It’s like I’m ---”

“Mine,” Bruce says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s not something new. He’s always felt possessive over Jason, but now, seeing Jason covered head to toe in bruises and marks he left on him, his hand prints around Jason’s hips and thighs like a brand, marks that Jason  _ wanted --  _ it’s much easier to articulate.

The next time, Bruce hands him a blade and Jason, darkness and wonder and so, so much love in his eyes, cuts into him. Shallow at first, then deeper. He makes half a dozen cuts before he finally takes a breath. When he spills Bruce’s blood, Jason leans in and gets a taste of it. He says he wants Bruce inside of him, every way he can get him. After, they go to the mirror again, but this time their positions are switched.

Bruce runs his fingers over the angry red cuts all over his chest, looking up and smiling at Jay’s reflection when he realizes the pattern that has been carved into his skin. A rudimentary  _ J  _ over his right pec.

Jay’s mark. Jay. Right over his heart.

“I’m yours,” Jay says, hooking his chin over Bruce’s shoulder and tracing the cuts on Bruce’s skin that will eventually scar over. “And now you’re mine.”

Bruce’s forehead wrinkles and he turns around, hands bracketing Jason’s face tightly.

“You can cut into me, you can burn me, you can leave as many scars and marks and brands on me that you need to,” he says, pausing to crush his mouth against Jason’s, kissing him so hard he tastes warm copper spill from Jason’s lip onto his tongue. “But I was  _ always _ yours.”

Jason cocks his head a little to the left, brows furrowed. He doubts him, of course he does. Bruce hasn’t given him any reason not to.

Reaching across the dresser, Bruce grabs the blade and holds it out for Jay to take again. “As much as you want, Jay,” he says. “As much as you need.”

Jay hesitantly takes the knife, still looking up at him, lip pulled between his teeth. “Always?”

Bruce nods. “Always.”

Jason drops the knife to the floor and kisses him, the warmth of salty tears sliding down his cheeks.

Once more, Bruce is reminded of the feeling of bleeding out from a chest wound; of broken ribs. He feels vulnerable and exposed. Helpless. He can’t  _ breathe _ .

Jason takes Bruce’s face between his hands this time and presses their foreheads together. Bruce closes his eyes. He feels Jason’s chest rise and fall against his own. He can breathe again.

He can breathe again.


End file.
